


TF2 SS -ScoutPauling Collection

by LittleMissPixieStix



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 16:04:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5462654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleMissPixieStix/pseuds/LittleMissPixieStix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My TF2 Secret Santa present for MadieBell!<br/>Three prompts, three fics, and each of them was a blast.</p><p>Ch 1: Seven Minutes - Scout/Pauling  (This fic is reason this this group is rated M)<br/>Ch 2: Father of Mine - Spy and Scout father/son relationship exploring fic.<br/>Ch 3: A Girl Can Dream - FemScout/Mr. (Male) Pauling</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Seven Minutes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MadieBelle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadieBelle/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miss Pauling and Scout have only seven minutes to spend together in a shed. How much can they make of this short time limit?
> 
> You can also find this fic on Tumblr: http://littlemissfemscout.tumblr.com/post/135531188387/seven-minutes

Miss Pauling enjoyed when she has to go inspect the mercenaries base.  Though it was work, she had time to go catch up and talk with the killers as she worked on her checklist of tasks.  She had a set amount of time she had for this job, and she always tried to make the most of it.

Today she was rushing through her tasks.  Not enough to be sloppy, but enough that the others took a slight notice.  They didn’t question it, instead assuming that she was rushing because Scout was hanging around the poor lady more than ever.

Little did they know that Pauling had promised Scout that if she had some free time after the inspection, she would agree to that “dream makeout session” that Scout had said he could give her.  It was admittedly hard to consider what they had as a relationship considering the most they had done together was kill and bury people.

That “makeout session” was the reason that Scout was following her around like a puppy, waiting for the promised bone.  

After checking out the medibay, Pauling scratched a few notes down, mostly about the blood splattered on the walls and the birds flying loose, and quietly started to walk out the door.  There were still the outlaying buildings, filled with equipment and ammo, to inspect.

Scout wasn’t very good at being patient.  He dogged her as she checked out the first set of crates, saying things like “Boxes look great, are you done now?” while she made some notes.

There was only so much that she could take.  Thankfully, with a few minutes to spare, she finished her job.  Scout looked her over with a smile, watching as she slipped the pen back into her clipboard’s holder and took her glasses off, placing both items on a crate.  It would do no good to break her glasses in something as harmless as this.

“Now?” He asked, finding himself strangely short of words as the moment he had hoped and prayed for moved closer.

“Now,” She said, pausing to check her watch, “But we only have seven minutes.”

“Seven minutes?  I can do seven minutes.” Scout said, thrilled she was giving him more than thirty seconds.  

Seven minutes was a lot of time to fill, though, so he may have to improvise somehow.  Most of the time, when he tried macking other girls, he was cut off at that thirty second mark.  Seven minutes was like a gift of infinity from the goddess before him.

“Right, uh, you ready?” He asked, moving closer, “You wanna do it out here?

“Yep,” She replied, “Private and away from the base.  It’s the optimal spot for this.  You’ve already waster fifteen seconds.”

He nervously licked his lips as he stepped closer, resting his hand her back.  A gentle hand moved to tilt her face up towards him, and he moved in slowly to kiss her.

Spy had taught him that lady’s didn’t like being rushed, they didn’t like pushy.  They liked romantic and classy guys.  Guys that didn’t try to plunge their tongues into lady’s mouths immediately, instead taking their time to ask for it to enter.  Guys that didn’t grab the lady’s butt, but rather her back.  Guys that closed their eyes, and didn’t stare at the other person, no matter how pretty their were.

Those were the strangest lessons Scout had gotten, but he felt like, right now, they were the best things he had ever learned in his life.

Pauling, on the other hand, raised her arm and checked her watch.  They had seven minutes, not seven hours.  Why out of all times, when time was of the essence here, was Scout choosing to move so slowly?

Her arm moved around to grab Scout’s head and pull him closer.  Wrapping her other arm around him, she guided, more forced, him to move back towards a wall.  When a crate caught the back of his legs off guard, he fell back and sat on it, with Pauling ending up partially in his lap.

“I, uh, whoa.  Sorry,” He said, worried that, after ending up in this compromising position, Pauling was going to leave.

“Move.  Faster.” She ordered, pulling him into a kiss before he could respond.  Working three hundred and sixty four days a year didn’t give much time for kissing people.  She had forgotten how good it felt, and she’d be damned if they spent the next six and a quarter minutes waiting for Scout to actually do something.

The boy seemed determined to be the tortoise her, taking time to stroke up her back and gentle move his hands over her, as if he was searching for a switch on her.  Or was he searching for a gun?  She had a gun on her, Scout should now that.  

Growling in frustration, she began to unbuckle his belt, refusing to tear her lips from his mouth as she worked.  Scout felt like he had just won the lottery.  She was taking off his belt?  Already?

Goddamn, apparently Spy was right; those ladies loved the gentle touches.

Sliding the belt free from its loops, Pauling suddenly gave Scout a shove backwards, interrupting him as she started to unbutton her blouse, and  separating their lips.  Holding the belt in her teeth, she grabbed his hands and moved them back against the wall, back near a pipe. 

Less than ten seconds later, Scout was bound by his own belt, his breathing speeding up as his body grew warmer.  This had not come up in the lesson about ladies Spy had given him, but Scout didn’t mind that at all.

Pauling moved back in for a kiss, her tongue sliding on his lips as she asked to deepen it, and Scout thankfully responded more eagerly this time, opening his mouth for her.  

Maybe he was finally realizing that they only had four minutes and thirty seven seconds left for this.

She slid a hand up under Scout’s shirt, teasing the poor boy while they continued to make out.  He wasn’t lying, he did have a nice set of abs under his uniform, at least the beginning of some.  Too bad she hadn’t thought to take the shirt off before she wrapped him up. 

That would definitely be something that she had to do next time.  Definitely.

Nevertheless, time was counting down, and if Pauling was anything, she was efficient.

Now that Scout’s hands were tied back behind him, Pauling was able to move as quickly as she wanted, unhindered by his wandering hands.  Her hands dug into his back as she pulled him closer, shifting on his lap as she moved towards him.

From the moaning that was slipping out of Scout’s throat, he didn’t seem to mind Pauling taking control that much.  If anything, he seemed to be enjoying it.

Good.  He should be getting used to her taking charge.  She wouldn’t have it any other way.

Her hand started to slowly trail down his body, fingernails lightly scratching as they made their way down.  Needing air, though she had been fighting not to, she pulled out of the kiss, moving her mouth to his throat,  

Scout was left panting, shifting his body as best he could to get the most out of every action.  He let out a sudden loud moan, one of both arousal and surprise, as Pauling bit down on his neck.

Pauling was getting riled, more aggressive the more turned on she got.  Hips grinding down on his lap, hands clawing at his chest and gripping his back, teeth biting down on his neck.  It was rough, it was more primal than prim, and it was so unlike the first time Scout had seen the angel he thought was the administrative assistant.

And, hot damn, could he get used to this!

Moving back into quick, hard kiss, one of her hands started to tug on the hem of Scout’s pants, and started to fiddle with the button on the top.

Though there was no talking taking place, the sounds of the room were potent.  There was the sound of quiet moaning, the sound of a zipped being pulled down, the sound of a watch beeping, the sound of a crate scraping on a concrete floor, the sound of  _want_ and  _need_   _absolutely_   _permeating_  the room-

Wait.  

The sound of a watch beeping?

Almost as if in a daze, Pauling pulled out of the ferocious kiss, blinking slowly as she squinted at Scout in what he felt was a very sexy squint.  for Pauling, it was hard to see without her glasses. She moved slowly, needing to take a moment to get back properly into her head after allowing herself to get lost in the moment.

Glancing, more glaring down at the watch, she stood up off of Scout’s lap.  Immediately, her hands moved to fix her hair, resetting any wayward strands into an immaculate bun in mere seconds.

Scout, snapping out of his daze, watched her with a sinking feeling of heartbreak.

“Time’s up,” She said, seeing the look on his face only after she had donned her glasses again, “Our seven minutes are up.”

“Screw the seven minute time limit,” Scout said, an uncomfortable, stiff feeling in his crotch only helping to boost his agitation,“C’mon, Miss Pauling, don’t leave me like this.”

“I’m going to untie you,” She said, pausing as a small frown decorated her face, “...Or is that not what you mean?”

”You know damn well what I mean,” He said, trying to swallow the rising, horrible feeling in his throat, “Bein’ untied would be nice too.”

It worried him.  The look of the horny hungry woman had swiftly been replaced with the look of a more removed administrative assistant, though one who had a red face, and it worried him.  Was he that easily forgettable to her?

“Scout...” She paused, picking up her clipboard, “I want to continue this.”

“Then why don’t you?”

“I-...Work,” She admitted as she stepped closer, trying to button her partially open blouse, “I’ve got a job to do.”

“Can’t you let it slide this one time?” He asked, his words more pleading than he would have liked. 

“I can’t, Scout,” She said, unwrapping the belt from his hands, “People aren’t just going to bury themselves.  Between murder, arson, picking up the Administrator's dry cleaning, and destroying evidence, I’m absolutely booked.”

A look having of an idea pop into his head bloomed on his face.

“Can I help you?” He asked, eagerly sitting up and rubbing his wrists, “I can help you.  We can get the jobs done really fast and then we can make out more in your new free time, right?”

“Well...” She grew quiet as she rolled the idea around in her head, “I don’t see why not.”

He bolted up off of the crate, grabbing her hand and giving a gentle tug towards the door, like a kid asking for permission to enter a candy store.

“What are we waiting for then?  Let’s get goin!” He said, picking up the pace as she started to move with him, “We’ve got people to kill.  I’m the best body buryer, Miss Pauling, and we’re gonna destroy all of the evidence so good, just you wait.  And then we’re gonna kiss more and stuff, right?”

“Right,” She said, unable to stop the small smile on her face, “Definitely going to kiss and more.”

The two of them headed towards her vehicle, their flushed faces almost glowing in the bright sunlight.  Both of them knew that, for next time, they needed to move fast, even if it wasn’t what all the other ladies wanted.

Because, if they did, the next time they had seven minutes to spare, it would definitely be enough for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “If you like the idea, take off with it. I don't have any specific wants, though fluffy stuff and smooches are very nice. If you're feeling a kinky mood, maybe go with some bondage (domPauling is v good imo).”
> 
> This was fun to write. It was so good being able to write Scout/Pauling again, because I hadn’t for awhile, so I loved this prompt so much. I hope you enjoyed the fic.


	2. Father of Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CH 2: Father of Mine. Spy and Scout father/son relationship.
> 
> You can also find this fic on Tumblr: http://littlemissfemscout.tumblr.com/post/135531616422/father-of-mine

It started with a simple phone call.  

A simple phone call, a simple question, and a simple request, to be exact.

It was a long walk down the desert road to the lone payphone, but it was the only method of contact that Spy felt comfortable using.  He knew that neither the Administration nor the BLU team had bugged the phone.  The only reason he could be so sure about that was because he had bugged the phone himself.

He had been talking to his lady love, the only person in the world that he dare show any sort of affection to, when she asked him the simple question.

"Have you ever wanted children?"

Of course, being the sensible man that he was, Spy panicked.  

Surely the woman wasn't asking for another child, was she?  She had at least seven of them, Spy thought he knew that much, even if it had been rare to ever see them all at the same time.  Was his lover pining for the days past, when she had been catering to midgets?   Was she hoping that he felt the same way and would want to assist her in this new-found dream?  

His line of work was not suited for being a father.  It wasn't even suited for a relationship, but for Iris he could break that rule.  Bringing another person, a child no less, into a the dangers surrounding Spy was something that the Frenchman could not do.  

Him?  A father?  Never.  

For once, he was not the right man for the job.

"I cannot say zhat I have," Spy confessed, pulling his cigarettes out of his pocket.

The silence on the other end of the line worried him.   Not only because an assassin could have taken her out in the thirty seconds of quiet, but also because he was worried that she was upset by his words.

It turned out to be something quite different than Spy expected.

"What if I said you were a father?" She asked, "What if I told you I thought one of my boys was yours?"

"Nonsense," He argued, teeth clenched tight around the cigarette as he flicked at his lighter, "How could you be so certain?"

"He's got your eyes.  And your smile.  Not your laugh," She said.

"I assume you are happy about zhat?" He asked, finally able to properly smoke.

"Oh you," She said, pausing,  "...You know, he didn't come around until you and I were..."

"Fornicating?"

"Yep.  He's got to be yours, hun.  I’m ninty percent sure," She said, "I figured twenty-four years was enough to keep you in the dark.  It was time you had to know.  Do you want me ta’ keep you a secret to him?"

I would prefer zhat, yes," Spy said slowly, "Would you mind sending me a picture of zhe boy?  I am interested in seeing his face."

That had been the simple request.

That was the reason that, three weeks later, Spy was now sitting in his chair, back in his quarters, staring at a picture that was that of the boy and his mother.  The kid was dressed in Christmas sweater, gaudy and bright, with his arm wrapped around his mother’s shoulders.  That sweater wasn’t what was catching Spy’s attention, though; the boy’s face was.

That was Scout’s face.  He knew that face well, having to see it every day, and he knew that it was Scout’s face.  That was Scout with his Iris.

That meant that he had fathered that brat.  That meant that Spy was a father, his genes were in the boy, according to Iris anyway.  

What an absolutely terrible turn of events.

From this point on, after staring this startling realization in the face, a strange sense of paranoia washed over Spy.  He felt that the others must know, that he was the last one to figure it out, and that feeling terrified him.  He was always the first to know something, never the last.  Nothing about this situation was comfortable for Spy.

Then again, he  _was_ a spy.  Uncomfortable situations were his fortE.  He would use his impeccable skills of deceit and falsehood to make sure that the others never knew, or if they they thought they did, to make them question everything.

They wouldn’t catch him of guard, no sir, he would show them all by showing nothing.

Dinner that night was tense, with Spy watching the others, but nothing happened.  Over the next couple of days, nothing happened, Spy made sure of it.  Soon, the man felt like it would be okay to relax, because the others didn’t know.

Then, he had a conversation with Medic.  An idle one, one to just pass the free time, or so Spy thought.

“Quite the fight wasn’t it?” Medic asked.

“It was certainly was,” Spy agreed, “Too close.”

“A victory is still a victory,” Medic pointed out, “The less intel zhe BLUs get, either in zhe cases or on us, zhe better.”

“True.”

“Zhe injuries from today’s fight were nothing interesting, unfortunately,” Medic mused, resting his head on his hand, “Bullets removed from flesh, organs resituated back into zheir proper place, limbs sewn back on.  No one even lost a head!”

“Soldier most likely took it.”

“Probably,” Medic agreed, “Scout had zhe most interesting injury, but even zhat was mundane.”

“...Oh?” Spy asked, wondering if there was a reason that Scout was being mentioned.  No matter, he had to act interested, but not too interested, to keep his act up.

“ _Ja,_ his ankles were blown off, but I healed him at nearly zhe same time, so they were reaffixed perfectly...Except zhat zhey, und his feet, were backwards.”

“Zhat definitely sounds...interesting.”

“It was.  Seeing how the bones meshed back together was a work of art, but zhat was about it,” Medic said, pausing, “Speaking of Scout...”

Spy waited for Medic to finish his sentence, staying on guard all the while.  This was it, this was the moment that he had to be ready to deny everything though feigning ignorance and crafting falsehoods.  This was the moment that he had been waiting for and he was ready.

“...I believe he’s interested in talking with you later.” Medic finished.

“About what?” Spy asked abruptly, suddenly craving a cigarette.

“I’m not sure.  With Scout, who knows?” Medic shrugged, “He sounded quite serious about it, though.  At least as serious as he could under anesthesia.”

“I see...” Spy said slowly as he started to stand up, partially to get away from Medic to smoke, partially because he needed to figure out how much Scout knew about him.   He wouldn’t properly know what Scout was after until they talked, so wondering about it now would not do him much good.

“I assumed you’d appreciate a fair warning,” Medic said, watching Spy stand, “Are you leaving to go hide from now?”

“I don’t know why you would think zhat,” Spy muttered, heading for the door as he pulled his smokes from his pocket.

“Hmm, I believe you know why,” Medic said, sitting up as he seemed to remember something, “Don’t forget that test we have later next week.”

“What test?” Spy asked, still walking out the door.  He almost tripped and fell slat on his face when Medic answered his question with -

“Why, zhe DNA test Mann Co wishes to run on everyone!”

From that point on, Spy was jumpy.  He was certain that everyone knew and that they were just choosing to torment him with the information.

When Medic told him that smoking killed sperm and his chance at ever siring a child, he was certain the man knew.

When Sniper kept referring to Scout as “kiddo” and Engineer kept calling him “son”, Spy was certain that they knew.

When Scout kept dogging after him, wanting to talk, Spy was certain that he knew.  

When Pyro drew a picture of the team, with Spy and Scout right next to each other, Spy was certain that even they knew.

This paranoia was starting to effect his performance on the field, and his scores were the lowest they had been in a while.  It wasn’t like him to bumble into sticky bomb traps, bullet sprays, or flying rockets.  Until this was resolved somehow, it wasn’t going to get any better.

In fact, it was probably just going to get worse.

Spy had taken to avoiding the others, more so than usual.  Right now, he had taken a spot outside, leaning back against the building as he smoked, lost in his own thoughts.

“Is smart to smoke next to ammo building?”

The voice caught Spy off guard, and he reacted in kind.  One hand flew up ready to intercept, the other quickly gripped his knife, ready to launch an attack of his own.

When he saw that it was just Heavy, he relaxed, but only slightly.

“I’m not going to be igniting anything from out here,” Spy spat, “What are you doing here anyway?  Zhe minigun ammo is not in zhis building.”

“Came for Doctor’s supplies,” Heavy shrugged, his large shoulders moving gently up then down, “What is team sneak out here for?”

“To smoke.  Zhat’s all.”

“Normally when Spy hides, you do a better job,” Heavy mused, causing Spy to sputter in anger.

“Whatever are you talking about?” Spy asked, hand pausing halfway to his pocket, knife ready to use again.

“Calmness has fallen too.”

“Heavy, if you have something to say, zhen say it,” Spy said.

“Something is bothering you, Spy.”

“Are you asking me if I’m hiding something?” Spy asked, twirling his knife back out, both as a threat and for show.  Both aspects failed dismally because, as distracted as he was, the blade ending up hitting the back of his hand, causing a stinging cut, even despite the glove.  

“No.  Spy is always hiding something.  Would do no good to ask that,” Heavy said, ambling over to the building, “But something is bothering, yes?  Talk?”

“No,” Spy spat, “Zhere is nothing to talk about it.”

“Spy, you are good at distancing self.  This, you can not distance self from,” Heavy said, “You would if you could.   But you can not.  Is so?”

Spy said nothing in response, instead silently glaring out at the empty field.

“Can only wear a mask for so long,” Heavy mused, “Is about family?”

Spy merely puffed harder on his cigarette.

“Family is hard to distance self from, yes,” Heavy said, “Is about mother?”

Spy calmly inhaled on his cigarette.

“Father?” Heavy guessed again, causing Spy to cough.

“Why don’t you go mind your own business?” Spy said roughly.

“Ha!  Is funny words, coming from you,” Heavy replied good naturedly, “Is you father or...?”

“I supposed you’d be decent at identifying father problems, seeing as how you lost yours at the Gulag,” Spy replied, his words stone cold and meant to cut deep.

“Know some things, yes,” Heavy said with a small shrug, “Know that he tried his best, even as he died.  Know that he cared.  Knowing what kind of man father was gave me power to help my sisters and mother.”

“You’re certainly talkative.”

“Spy already knows.  Nothing to hide here, not between us,” Heavy replied, “Can not imagine how different life would be if had not known father.”

“...Meaning?”

“Heavy had closure.  Knew father from moment from birth to his death.  Knew that he cared and that he loved until moment he died.  Can not imagine not knowing him,” Heavy merely replied, “But someone here at base has lived that life.”

“I assume you’re talking about our resident hyperactive squirrel Scout?”

“ _Da_.” Heavy said, nodding his head slowly, “Should go talk to him, Spy.  Will help you both.”

“How are you so sure about that?”

“Spy, your work is not the only one that is suffering,” Heavy said, “Team is worried about two of you.”

“I am sure,” Spy snorted, rolling his eyes.

“Is true.” Heavy responded, almost indignantly, “Will go talk with Scout?”

“If it will help ease the team’s concern, then I suppose I must indulge him,” Spy said, a hint of annoyance and sarcasm underlying his words.

“Thank you,” Heavy said, pushing off of the wall and beginning to amble back towards the base.

“ _Monsieur,_ what about zhe ammo?”

 _“_ What ammo? _”_ Heavy replied, somehow managing a look of almost innocence on his stony face, “Did not come out here for any ammom.”

 _“Merde,”_ Spy muttered, taking a long pull on his cigarette, frustrated at being played by the team’s Heavy.

Heavy took another step, and then stopped, turning his bulky self to face Spy once more.

“Spy, at Gulag, had to live with many families, close together, for many, many days.” He said.

“What does zhis have to do with anyzhing?” Spy asked angrily.

“Am pretty good at spotting them,” Heavy said as he left.  Spy’s cigarette fell out of his mouth.  He ground the butt underfoot before he skulked inside the base, reeking of smoke and fury.

He headed straight for his quarters and, once inside, he returned to reading his new favorite book “ _How to beat a DNA test.”_   After cramming for a few hours, he finally felt calm.

And then there was a knock at the door.

“Spy?  You in there?” He could hear Scout asking, the door between them thankfully dulling the boy’s voice. 

“Go away, Scout,” Spy answered.

“Spy, you are in there!” Scout said excitedly, “Listen, man, I’ve been wanting to talk with you and-”

“Go away.”

“But I thought-...I really wanna-...Heavy said you were gonna finally talk with me, man,” Scout said, sadness in every part of his voice, “...You’re not?”

Spy rolled his eyes as he tucked his book away.

“You may come in and talk, but please make it quick,” The Frenchman said, “I have much reading to do.”

Scout frowned on the other side of the door, wondering what book could possible be so engrossing for Spy, but slowly opened the door and stepped inside.  He had been wanting to talk to Spy about this thing for a few days now, and now that he had the chance, he wasn’t going to blow it thinking about books of all things.

The Frenchman regarded the boy with a raised eyebrow, hands folded in front of himself.

“Well, talk,” He said, trying to prompt Scout.

“Oh, uh, yeah, right,” Scout said, his hand rubbing at the back of his neck, “Listen, this might sound a little stupid, but I wanna tell you something.  Like, I was talking with my mom the other day”

So Iris had told the boy.  She had ratted out that his father was the man that fought side-by-side with the boy, that though he saw his father every day, he had never once seen his face.

“Speak.” He said, his words clipped, tense, “What did she tell you?”

“Listen, I know I’m takin’ a few minutes from you and your stupid book, Spy, but you don’t have to sound so angry, alright?” Scout said, a sad sort of anger entering his voice.

“Pardon my tone, then,” Spy said, apologizing but not at the same time.  If he was Scout’s father, then he should have the right to speak how ever he wanted to discipline the boy, Scout should realize that, “Continue.”

“Okay, fine.  I was talking with my mom and she started talking about my dad.  My biological dad.” Scout said, eyes searching over Spy’s masked face for any sort of expression.

This did not go unnoticed by Spy.

“What did she dare say?” Spy asked, hoping that he wasn’t going to have to go angrily call Iris after this.  It’d have to wait until morning, anyway.  Timezone adjustment meant that it was easily after midnight in Boston.

“You take a rude pill or something today?  I’m trying to tell you something here.  Something that matters to me,” Scout said, only partially satisfied when Spy motioned for the boy to continue. 

“I’m sure zhat zhe case of your father matters to you, but to me-”

“He’s dead.”

Spy leaned back in the chair, carefully guarding his reactions and words.  If Scout had said what he thought Scout had said, then this had been an unexpected, but welcome, turn of events.

“Pardon?”

“He’s dead, alright?  Ma’ told me that he died this week,” Scout said, “Fell overboard a boat out in the Pacific.  There’s no body or nothing.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because...Damn it,” Scout wiped at his face, a nervous gesture, “I...always wanted to meet him.  I never got to meet my dad.  Ma’ told me about him before, and I always thought that, maybe...”

“You’d be able to meet him,” Spy finished, “What did I-...Your mother say about him?”

“Said he was a French guy.  Met him when she found the guy wandering around the Boston streets.  His accent was part of what attracted her,” Scout said, “Said he was always comin’ and goin’ because of work.  Showed me hsi picture once; damn, he was blurry.  She said I had his eyes, his smile, and she could see him when she looked at me-”

“How did zhat make you feel?”

“Ah.  It made me feel pretty damn proud,” Scout admitted, “Being from a guy that made her that happy?  It made me feel so damn proud.”

“Really?” Spy asked, his eyebrows raising up.

“Yeah.  And, I never got to meet the guy-”

“You said zhat, yes.”

“-So, I, uh... God, this is gonna sound so stupid, but-”

“...But?” Spy prompted.

“But sometimes I looked up to you as the father I never had,” Scout said, a nervous laugh floating out of him, “You’re French, we got the same eye color...And that was about it.  But, like, it was enough for me to pretend, you know?”

  
“...Yes?”

“But, like, he’s gone now.  Gone for good...But you’re still here,” Scout said slowly.

“Meaning?”

“I was wondering if it’d be, y’know,  _okay_ if I like, thought of you like that still, I guess?” Scout said, his voice cracking, “I - shit, this sounds so stupid - ain’t ever gonna meet him now.  And that’s, like, the one thing I ever wanted.  I just wanted to meet him, shake his hand, and say thanks, you know?  Maybe even get ta’ know the guy a little if I got the chance, just because even if he wasn’t there like a  _dad_ , he was still my father.  So I just wanted to make sure that it was okay for me to even think of you like that because, dammit, you’re all I’ve got left, Spy.  You’re the only team mate I can even think of as a father and-”

Spy watched the team’s smart mouth break the more he talked, until he could take no more.

“I suppose zhe French accent helps with that illusion,” He said, pausing as he blew out some smoke in thought, “You may.”

Scout sat stood bolt upright.

“You serious?  It’s okay?”

“ _Oui_.”

“We what?”

“Yes.” Spy repeated in English.

“I...Thanks, Spy.  I mean, this ain’t gonna change anything between us, because that’s what I kinda felt like before, but now that you’re, like, the only person I have left ta’ think of like that, I just had ta’ talk with you about it, ‘cause it was kinda weird for me ta’ keep thinking that without running it by you and-”

“No need to thank me. Zhis will not change anything between us,” Spy agreed, “But I cannot imagine growing up not knowing your father, or how painful zhat was, so I can substitute for zhe one you have in your head, if it is enough to make you happy.”

“Yeah.  It is,” Scout said with a nod, “Spy?  Don’t, uh, don’t tell the others?  And than-”

“Shake on it,” Spy said, standing up and he held out his hand, “I will substitute, we will both keep this a ssecret, but zhis changes nothing between us.  We are still team mates.”

Scout moved back towards the chair, his wrapped hand meeting the gloved one in a short, but strong handshake.

“Thanks,” Scout said, turning to leave the room, “I mean it, Spy.”

“You are welcome, Spy said, sitting back down and pulling his books back out, “Please close zhe door behind you, Scout.”

Scout looked back over his shoulder to reply, when he noticed the book that Spy was reading.

“Doc tell you about the DNA test?” He asked.

“ _Ou_ -...Yes.” Spy replied.

“Yeah, I just got out of it.  Wasn’t fun, but wasn’t too bad either,” Scout said with a shrug, “ Why are you trying to beat it?  It’s just for respawn.”

“Pardon?” Spy asked, looking up from his book.

“It’s just ta’ get fresh DNA in respawn, so the system can pull the right person,” Scout answered, “What did you think?  That Mann Co. was going to be cloning us or something?”

“...No?” Spy replied, gently closing his book as he marked his page with his hand.

“I did.  That’s why I asked.  No clones for us.  I still gotta do the dishes tonight,” Scout said, “You get that book from the town’s library?”

“Where else?’

"Coulda’ been in one of your teeth, I don’t know.  They got a weird selection,” Scout said, pausing in the door, “Need more Dickens.”

“You read Dickens?”

“I..uh.  No.  Nope.  Not really,” Scout answered quickly, “I mean...Uh, how many authors got the word ‘dick’ in their name, you know what I mean?  I...I gotta go now.  Thanks again, Spy.”

The door was closed, though not softly.   Spy quietly chuckled to himself.  Just last week he had been thinking the same thing about the library’s selection, though not about the author’s name.

If Scout was his, it was going to be interesting to see what traits of the Frenchman were to be found in the boy, what of his mother, and how the two had combined to form this quirky human being.

As much as he hated to admit it, he was a bit fond of the situation that Iris had set up between him and Scout.  She had made it so that he never had to reveal his role of a father, but had made it, either unknowingly or not, that he could try to fill it anyway, no strings attached.  

Clever woman.  She was getting a vase full of roses later.

Spy returned to his book, reading with much less gusto this time around, as he rolled the new situation and turn of events around in his head.

For once, he was feeling at least a little bit comfortable with the idea of this job, this role of pretend fatherhood.  He was growing fond of the idea of being a sort of support for the boy, of talking with him and helping sort his problems, of getting those looks of awe and almost adoration as he helped fill a role that he had made a void.

Not once in his life did Spy think that he would look forward to ever being a father-figure to someone.  From keeping him in line, to helping him woo the ladies, Spy was strangely looking forward to it all.

He had years of abandonment to make up for Scout, in all the subtle ways that he could, and the boy definitely had to know how to tie a tie, all men should, and...He was already planning out what he would teach the boy, if given the chance.

Him?  A father?  He was starting to be able to see it. 

More than he had ever thought he could before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "The concept of dadSpy is hilarious to me, by that I mean I enjoy and support it. If there's a situation where you could include Spy hinted at being Scout's dad (even if he's totally against it or trying to hide the fact) that's pretty humorous."
> 
> I love DadSpy too. The more DadSpy in the fandom, the better.


	3. A Girl Can Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CH 3: Mister Pauling/ FemScout shenanigans all up in this biz.
> 
> You can also find this fic on tumblr: http://littlemissfemscout.tumblr.com/post/135532225127/a-girl-can-dream

The fighting had been hard the last couple of days, the bots didn’t go down easy, but thankfully, the only casualties had been some of the buildings.

The team’s Scout, a brunette with a ponytail, was eagerly awaiting the arrival of the the Administrator’s assistant, Mister Pauling, to come and asses the damage sustained to the base.

She had been carefully preparing for this moment, making the team’s Medic heal her black eye, it was hard to flirt with a black eye, and stuffing a lucky sock, from the set that always helped her hit home runs, in each of her bra’s boob cups.  

To be frank, as she always was, if she wanted to net herself Pauling, her bust could use a boost.  

Hell, if she could just get a smooch from him, then she’d find that an even trade for the socks, no matter how lucky they might be, making her boobs itchy. 

A girl could dream. 

The socks even seemed to work too!  

When Mister Pauling came by, clipboard in hand, he had looked at her tits, she was sure of it.  Behind those square frames, he couldn’t hide that he had been checking her out.

He had definitely been checking her out.

“Hey, Mista’ P, watcha’ lookin’ at?” She casually asked, sidling up to the man, “See somethin’ ya’ like?”

“I’m seeing a lot of collateral damage,” He replied, swiping a hand through his slicked back hair, “That’s what I’m seeing.”

“Didn’t realize there was collateral damage down my shirt,” She teased, “Thought that was called cleavage, but maybe you got’s your own fancy SAT word ta’ use instead.  That’s alright.  I can respect that.”

Pauling knitted his dark eyebrows, slowly looking up from his clipboard to the Scout.

“The buildings.  I was talking about the buildings,” He said, “You ladies helped defend the base and keep the territory, but there was a lot of collateral, and structural, damage sustained to the buildings.”

“Oh,” She said, disappointed, “...Meaning?”

“We’re going to have to rebuild them.” 

“And the buildings are all you’re talking about?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” She said again, perking up after a moment, “You see how many of those bots we took down?”

“I didn’t see, but I had the numbers.  One hundred and forty seven Sniperbots,  one hundred and thirty seven Spybots, one hundred and ninety eight Medicbots, one hundred and-” The man looked up from his sheet of calculations to see the Scout furiously trying to follow his numbers and calculate the total when he took pity on her, “You held back around eight hundred bots in total this week.”

“So we did good, right?”

“Yes, the team-”

“Did I do good?” She asked hopefully. pressing her “enhanced” chest close to peer at his clipboard.

Pauling stepped away and moved the clipboard out of her sight, hiding a smile as she grew frustrated.

“You took out nine-”

“I took out way more than nine!” She argued, cutting him off, “I was, like, taking out nine a mnute, nine a second, don’t you tell me that I only took out nine, Mista’ Pauling, I-”

“-Teen percent.  You took out nineteen percent of the robots that attacked.” He said, doing his best to keep a straight face.

“I knew that,” She said immediately, “Hey now, when’d we go from switching from numbers ta’ percents?  That wasn’t fair, you can’t d-.”

“Your hit to miss ration was seven to thre-”

“Now ratios,” She groaned, “I fought a million bots this week.  Are  _you_ trying to kill me now?  I don’t wanna hear the percentage of bots I killed or nothing-”

“Oh, I’m sorry.  I didn’t know that you didn’t like percentages,” Pauling said, the beginning of a mischievous grin lining his face, “Would it make you feel any better if I said that you took out zero point one nine of the bots?”

Scout had been holding up a finger, ready to angrily poke the man’s chest, but then she stopped.

“Wait, you said I took out nineteen percent of them.  How’s that a zero now!?”

“Mathematics.”

“But isn’t math supposed to make things bigger too?”

“I changed the percentage into a deicimal, which means I moved the decimal place over twice.  Thus one nine point zero because zero point one nine,” he looked at her over the rim of his glasses, “You did take math in high school, yes?”

“Yeah, I did.  I just forgot a lil’ bit of it.  I scored highest in m’grade my junior year even,” She bragged, pointing her thumb at herself.

“...Didn’t your files say that you were held back junior ye-”

“Shut it, man.  That ain’t the point,” She said, knocking his clipboard to the side, “Your missing the point entirely here, Mista’ P.”

His eyes darted down, looking at her chest she was sure, and she waited for him to say something,  _anything_ , about her superior chest.  It was bigger, if only thanks to some socks, so it was superior.  It had to be enough.  What else would a guy be looking for in a girl?

Personality could only get you so far in the bedroom, you know?

“There’s a point?” He asked, further infuriating the girl.

“There’s a freakin’ point!” She half shouted, reaching under her shirt, “I’ve been dealin’ with underboob sweat by stuffing these freakin’ socks into my bra ta’ give my bust a boost and you’ve been paying more attention to stupid math problems than me!”

She pulled the socks out of her bra, and angrily threw them on the ground, kicking one of them away.

“They were really itchy too,” She whined, “I had itchy boobs for you.”

“They were socks,” He said slowly, breathing out, “Oh thank God.”

That caused Scout to pause, her mind working through Mister Pauling’s words and reaction.

“You...were worried about them?” She asked slowly, “Why?”

“I was worried that you tapped your Medic for an augmentation, and then I was wondering what they were augmented to do,” He answered, “There’s no telling what she would have made them do, if she was allowed to create without restraint.”

“Are you saying that you like me with small knockers?” She asked hopefully.

He stopped, adjusting the top button of his shirt, obviously stalling for time as he thought of how to answer her question.

“I’m not sure how to respond to that without sounding like I’m sexually harassing you-”

“Hey, now don’t you worry about that,” Scout cut in, “You can sexual harass me anytime.”

“-I...Okay, ah.  What?” He said, caught off-guard by her statement, “I will say that before that...look didn’t suit you properly.”

“So this is better?  Me just being me?”

“...Yes.”

“And you’re not just saying that out of pity?”

“Nope.”

“And my boobs are the perfect size for you?”

“..Um,” He looked down, “It wouldn’t look good on me.”

“Ah ha, you’re funny,” She said, “Mister P, just...tell me this, would ya’?  Do I have a chance with you?”

He paused, thinking.  Theoretically, anyone on this earth could have a chance with him, so this perky little brunette did too.

“Yes, I suppose,” He answered, and the Scout literally jumped for joy.

“I need to take ya’ on a date.  Well, you need to take me, ‘cause guys take the girls, but I’ll be in charge of it.  When you got time for a date?”

“I only get one day off a year, and I just had it, so I don’t have time until next December-”

”Consider it booked,” She told him, and then she got a huge grin on her face as she continued to ramble, “We’re gonna go get some hot dogs, and then go see a gun show, and, maybe even a movie depending on what’s out, I don’t know what’ll be out next November, so we’ll have to wait and see about that, but does that sound good?  Do we have a date?”

He watched the Scout, watching the way her eyes lit up and her hands waved about, drawing out their future date of her dreams.  There was a slight smile on his face.  Her enthusiasm was quite contagious, and he felt it starting to affect him too.

“Alright, that’s enough,” He said, holding up a hand to quiet the Scout, “Next December, December the 3rd to be exact, we can go on a date.”

Scout froze.

“We can!?” She asked hopefully, “I’m so happy I could kiss you...Can I kiss you?”

“Save it for the date,” He told her, “”And let’s try to at least get through the rest of the year before you start asking and reminding me about it, okay?”

“Okay,” She agreed, aggressively shaking her head in agreement, “Oh, man, I can’t wait.”

“Please do,” He said, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have the rest of the base to look over.  Collateral damage isn’t just going to asses itself.”

“Yeah, okay, bye, Mista’ P,” Scout said, “I’ve gotta get goin’ to.  Got some...stuff to do too.”

Now she had stuff to do, now that she had a date.  She had only a year or so to start planning for this date and she was going to use every second of it.  

Come next year, her date with Mister P was going to be fully planned, even down to her outfit.  It’d be something to show off her good-enough, Pauling-approved cleavage.   Oh, next year couldn’t come soon enough!

When the time came, not a single lucky sock was going to be stuffed down her shirt for it.  They’d be on her feet instead, where socks should be, hoping they’d help her have a home run of a night.

Only time would tell if, come their date night, she’d be able to make it to a base with Mister Pauling.  

And deep down in her heart, she was hoping that, at least once more, those socks could help her score and maybe even hit it out of the park with him.

A girl can dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “I honestly feel like these two are great either way, but I think it would be insanely cute to see someone's depiction of a Mr. Pauling with femScout. There's not enough Mr. Pauling in this fandom. “
> 
> This was absolutely a blast to write. I've never written a Mr. Pauling and I love how this fic basically developed on its own. Who knew lucky socks could work that well, eh?
> 
> Hope you enjoyed your Secret Santa gifts, MadieBell. Hope you have a Merry Christmas!

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: "If you like the idea, take off with it. I don't have any specific wants, though fluffy stuff and smooches are very nice. If you're feeling a kinky mood, maybe go with some bondage (domPauling is v good imo)."
> 
> I took off with it. And DomPauling is also very good. Hope you enjoyed the fic!


End file.
